


A Cell Of My Own Making

by one_golden_sun



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Daddy Kink, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Revenge, Sad, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 16:29:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10575132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_golden_sun/pseuds/one_golden_sun
Summary: Thomas spent the next century nursing his hatred, feeding it. He had other pursuits, of course, but his favorite hobby was plotting how to punish those two creatures. Lafayette and Hamilton.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CoffeeQuill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeQuill/gifts).



> PLEASE READ THE TAGS
> 
> A huge thank you to @CoffeeQuill as this is her verse! <3 <3 <3

He came to them in the dark. Watching for days. House in Harlem, candlelight, and a boy Thomas had heard was dead. His face in the window. Still human, skin glowing in the heat of fireplace. A beautiful boy. Charmed by the demons. 

Knock on the door in the storm. He begged to be changed, wanted to be like them. Secretary Hamilton agreed when he saw what Thomas had to offer. “You'll get your votes,” he vowed. “I'll stay out of your way.”

The last thing he saw before he died was the laughing eyes of the man he hated most. Sip of Lafayette's blood, a blade to his throat. 

Three days later he woke up with the taste of Monticello’s dirt in his mouth. 

He was so _thirsty_. 

***  
The pain, at first, was unbearable. He was a lost lamb in storm. His bones ached for his sire, and when the cool weight of rejection settled like lead in his belly, the abandonment, that unquenchable desire dissolved into hate.

Thomas spent the next century nursing his hatred, feeding it. He had other pursuits, of course, but his favorite hobby was plotting how to punish those two creatures. Lafayette and Hamilton. 

***  
Chicago, 1893. The city abuzz with action. World’s Fair. Thomas knew they would be here.

He glimpsed them, dressed flamboyantly, walking the streets, strolling the park.

_The boy was with them._

Forever frozen at 24 years of age. Youthful, brown in the sun, clumsy in a graceful way. A mere cub to the lions he kept company with. They had turned him, it was hard to tell how long ago, he still seemed so young. 

So Thomas added a new item to the list he kept running tally in his brain. He wanted their little plaything. 

Revelation. How easy it would be to build them a custom hell.

Quietly, he bought an inn. Three floors, nothing fancy. A cellar. A top floor apartment. Like a mockingbird, he jeweled his nest. And waited.

***  
Lafayette and Alexander had told John to meet them at the train station. They had business, a small matter, they left it to him to return the keys to their landlord, settle any bills. The fair was over. Another chapter in their life closing. Alexander wanted to head west, the buzz of gold and adventure a siren’s song. John sat on a bench, ticket in hand, suitcase at his feet. 

He waited.

It rained again.

***  
The note seduced Alexander’s imagination. An opportunity, something clandestine, an address and a time. Lafayette accompanied him, of course, he never made monetary decisions without him. Being immortal required a certain level of luxury both of them were accustomed to, and while a misstep that lost them money would be a mere drop in the ocean, it would be a nuisance.

They stood in the office of the hotel manager, waiting. Rude to be late. 

“Hamilton, old friend!” An oily voice, and Alexander had been Alexander Harrison for thirty years now. That name had been dead for decades.

“Jefferson.” Alex turned to shake his hand. Lafayette was considerably warmer, really had nothing against the fellow. Thomas wanted to show them his hotel, which, while small, was fine and furnished well. He needed investors, wanted to expand. Chicago would soon rival New York and Boston. Thomas had always tinkered, invented, had something innovative in the cellar to show them. 

They followed.

***  
How it happened, they could never puzzle through. One minute they were chatting with Jefferson, then they were in the room. A small room, 8 by 10. A cell. A bed, a fireplace, a table. Wallpaper, warm bedding. A bookshelf stacked with volumes. A table with a candle. One small window, by the ceiling, let in a square of sunlight. 

Instead of a door, a wall. 

Jefferson laid the last few bricks himself, taunting them all the while. Alexander lay on the bed, his limbs still heavy with the sedative, but his tongue was sharp. He cursed Jefferson, shouted and screamed from the bed. 

“Now, Alexander,” Jefferson chided. There was perhaps room for four more bricks. “It is such a shame, really. Your poor little fledgling, all alone. Sweet, pretty thing ain’t he? How devastated will he be when he realizes his lovers ran off, abandoned him? His own sire leaving him all alone in this world? It’s almost like he may need some comfort, a protector. I happen to have a way with Southern boys, having been one myself.” Though they couldn’t see his mouth, his smirk reached his eyes.

“Touch him and it’s the last thing you’ll ever do,” Alexander shouted. Jefferson chuckled, laid another brick. 

Before the last brick was set, Alexander turned to pleading. “Leave him out of this, Jefferson,” he begged. Jefferson would savor the pathetic sound of his voice for years. “This score you’re settling, it’s between us. I beg of you, leave him be.”

“You took too many things I wanted from me,” Jefferson said evenly. “Now it’s time I had something of yours.”

He laid the last brick.

***

“How could you?” Alex sobbed. He could move now, but he was balled up on the bed. He hadn’t felt this much, this heavy, this strongly in centuries. The rage brewed within him, a hurricane. “You let him--”

“I let him do nothing,” Lafayette said smoothly. His own eyes dark as the ocean. “We will last this. Dry your tears, come sit with me.”

Lafayette’s rage was silent.

***

Their train left hours ago, and John was soaked and chilled to the bone. No clue what to do, where to go. Without them, he was adrift.

A stranger in velvet. Indigo. Inky blue. He walked up John. 

“John Laurens?” He said. He had met with Lafayette and Alex hours ago. They caught a train North, he said. 

Silence. This was the fear he’d had for years. One day they would tire of him, and vanish into the ether. His heart was a black hole.

When Thomas offered him a night in his hotel, he accepted.

***  
Alexander had always remarked fondly how connected John still was to his humanity. He was a teeming pool of emotions, and his mere proximity brought that out in Alex and Laf. Now, he would trade away anything to be more like them, to feel the emptiness. 

It took just three nights before Thomas asked him to bed. 

Even another body, warm, could not fill that void. He allowed Thomas to touch him, to awake his nerves and worship his flesh. He wept for hours afterwards, inconsolable. Thomas was so kind, held him while he cried, rocked him like babe. 

***  
Jefferson had always tinkered, and Alexander and Lafayette found one of his...modifications early on. Alex kept track of time in his diary, and three days had passed. 

From their fireplace, voices.

Somehow, Jefferson had rigged a chute of sorts, carried the sound from the top floor apartment. 

“I hear his voice.” Alexander had thought he was delirious, but Lafayette nodded. They huddled by the hearth, ears perked. 

John, sobbing like a child. Jefferson’s voice, unctuous, comforting tones. “What did he do to him,” Alex sounded like a madman, his eyes bulged. “What did he do?”

***  
1909

Time passes different when you’re immortal. Even sequestered, as John was, the ebb and flow of time felt meaningless. Sixteen years without his lovers was a lifetime. Sixteen years was a blink of an eye.

Thomas didn’t like John to go out. It’s safer here, you are still young and weak, couldn’t stand myself if something happened to you. 

Thomas preferred John in states of undress, lacy underthings and satin and silks. You are beautiful like this, draped in finery. You look best in red. 

Thomas forbid John from hunting, brought him goblets of blood from his own kills. I know it’s not the same, but it’s enough.

Thomas shouted when he got angry, but was kind when he was pleased. John worked hard to please him, as his anger was terrifying. And, no matter the hard times, he would always be grateful that Thomas took him in when Alexander and Lafayette left him. They left you, like trash in the street. You are so lucky I rescued you, saved you from danger, a life of loneliness.

Thomas told John to call him Papa. He brought him sketchbooks, easels, paints and pencils. Thomas treated him well. 

***  
Hunger is agony. Hunger is wasting away. Hunger is watching your lover in constant pain. 

The hunger nagged constantly. 

The only interruption to the hunger was the fireplace. Almost every night, the same symphony of sounds. John crying. John begging.

John screaming.

Alexander would huddle next to the fireplace, listen to every sound and flinch, writhe. At least John was alive. Lafayette couldn’t take being audience to John’s agony, he often lay on the bed with the pillow over his ears, eyes screwed up tight. 

In the silence, Lafayette could plan.

***  
Here’s what Thomas liked:

John in lace. Silk stockings, corset, hair pinned up. Pretty whore, he said. John begging. On your knees, tell Papa what you want. Touched him claws only, paid no mind when he scratched him too hard. Sharp. Please, Papa, it hurts. I’m sorry lamb, you’re so pretty when you cry.

Rough. Hand on the back of his head, pushing him to suck cock or face first into the pillow, pinned. Pounding in and out of him, his mouth, his ass. He would hurt him until the tears flowed. Thomas came the hardest when John sobbed. 

After, when John lay trembling in the bed, Thomas would take John into his arms, kiss his face. Sometimes in the candlelight, if John was sleepy enough, if the pain dulled him enough, from a certain angle, he could pretend Thomas was someone else. 

***

Once, Thomas came upstairs early. He had a parcel from a shop downtown. A new outfit for John, sky blue. A whore’s outfit. John had been drawing, his special book he only took out every so often. He usually kept it hidden behind some other books in the book shelf.

Thomas snatched the book from his hand. “What is this?” He rifled through the pages. Portrait after portrait of them. Smiling, in anger, in sleep, in passion. Watercolors, ink drawing, charcoal sketches. Endless versions of them. 

“Disgusting!” Thomas snapped. Snatched John by the arm. “You’re disgusting. Pathetic. Pining after two men who left you! They don’t love, they never loved you. Unfaithful little slut.” He idly ripped out each page of the book, tossed each loving rendition of them into the fire. John wrapped his arms around himself. Bit back the tears.

“I love you,” Thomas said firmly. He snatched John by the hair, held him down on the floor. “Want to be a dog for them? I will treat you like a dog, a common whore, a used up rent boy.” 

As if he could slam the thoughts of them right out of John’s skull, he took him with such force his bones rattled. Tears soaked the carpet. Later, blood stained the bed sheets.

***  
1917

The books on the shelves had been read and reread. Hamilton had run out of ink years and years ago, so when he wanted to write he would prick his arm for blood, but lately he’d been too tired. They were both tired, weakened from starving for twenty-four years. Hair gone gray, skin pulled tight, muscles gave way to bones. Lafayette’s beauty had faded years ago, and Alexander knew he looked just as bad if not worse. Any physical sensation was pain, when the rabbit run of hunger hummed in the back your throat day and night. Not being able to touch each other, to lay on the bed inches apart, the chasm between them a glaring reminder of what was missing.

One day, or was it night? Once, the nightly concert of John’s torment began, but it was different. Louder, frantic, John screeching at the top of his lungs, his voice bouncing around the room. Not even the old, faded pillow Lafayette used could block out his screams. 

An unusual burst of strength and energy. Lafayette rose from the bed, went to the fireplace. Alex had long exhausted himself examining the thing, it’s metal walls, its narrow flue. Too smooth to climb, too thin to squeeze through. He squinted at the fireplace, the grate, the metal. Doubled over.

“Alexander,” Lafayette whispered, his voice dust. Alex took his hand, so thin it looked like a bird’s talons. “John… He is hurting John.”

By now the screaming had subsided, had given way to heart-wrenching sobs. For the first time in probably fifteen years. Lafayette grabbed Alex, held him close. “We have to stop him from hurting John.”

If Alex hadn’t been so drained, tears would have formed in his eyes. The hunger made him human, brought up those dreaded, painful feelings he had shed centuries ago. The hunger, and the sound of John’s torture. “I don’t know how,” Alex admitted. The room was a labyrinth, and in the center nothing but pain. 

***

Thomas had come home that day, something long and heavy wrapped in burlap. A metallic clunk as he set it on the table. John flinched. 

He had been caught again. Another notebook. This time just a few drawings. John was scared if he didn’t draw them, if he didn’t get them on the page, he’d forget their faces. He imagined where in the world they might be. The Alps, perhaps? They always loved Paris. A gold mine in California, an apartment in Philadelphia, a house in Mexico. A ship on the sea. He hoped wherever they were, they were happy together. John often wondered if they took on another third, if they fed off him or changed him. If he thought too hard, he could feel his own heart crack again.

When Thomas found this book, he was calm and quiet. This was much frightening than his wrath. John didn’t know how to react. He had left in a whirlwind, returned that afternoon with the package. He flipped through the book again, chuckling to himself.

“If you weren’t such an insolent little slut, I might feel _sorry_ for you,” he drawled. Snapped the notebook shut, pocketed it. 

“Please,” John whimpered. “Don’t be mad, I’m sorry Papa…”

“Oh, John. I’m not mad. Disappointed. Hurt. After all I have done for you. This is how you repay my kindness. You merely pretend to care for me, all the while being unfaithful in your heart. I feed you, I clothe you, I shelter you, I _love _you and yet you only think of them. Those two betrayed you, John. Left you without a backwards glance.”__

__John trembled, tried to think of anything that might soothe his panic. He didn’t like this sing-song voice Thomas spoke in, it was new, it was dangerous. One deft hand and Thomas unwrapped the bundle he brought in. A metal rod, ending in a flat piece. A stamp._ _

__“It’s time you remembered exactly who you belong to.” Fingers like spiders, lovingly caressing the iron._ _

__Thomas went to the fireplace._ _

__***  
The first brand went on his chest, to the left. “Above your traitor heart,” Thomas snarled. It faded to a pink scar by morning, was a ghost by the next evening._ _

__The second time Thomas branded him, he pressed the iron into the small of his back. John thrashed and sobbed, begged for mercy. Thomas smiled, let John catch his breath._ _

__“Come love,” Thomas coaxed him, led him to the bed, as if to comfort. Laid him on his belly, rubbed his hair, kissed his shoulder. “Pretty,” he remarked, flitted his fingertips over the fresh wound, making John hiss in pain. Hands reaching between his legs, finger brushing his hole._ _

__“Not tonight,” John gulped. “Hurts...hurts so much.” Lifted his tear stained face off the bed to look back at Thomas. Eyes red with lust, glaring._ _

__“Pardon me, but,” and he dug his claws right into the seared flesh. The pain blossomed white hot, and John yowled. “I do believe this right here indicates that _I own you_ and will do with that as I please.” Spread John’s cheeks apart, pressed his thumb there, his claw catching on the rim. John made a sound of pain, but went boneless on the bed. _ _

__That night, Thomas made it hurt._ _

__***_ _

__Thomas never ran out of places to brand him. Even as the scars faded, he made new ones. A scrawling map of ownership. Every night, John willed himself not to cry, not to beg, the pain never faded, he never dulled to it._ _

__Routine. Thomas came upstairs. Sometimes a goblet of blood, most times not. Once a week at best. Thomas undressed, donned his dressing gown in violet silk. Thomas stripped him. Thomas at the fireplace. If Thomas picked the piece of his flesh, he’d have John present it willingly. Sometimes he made John choose the spot. Anywhere but his pretty face. Sizzle of iron on flesh, the crying. Thomas brought him to the bed. Thomas took._ _

__The back of his thigh, and Thomas pressing against it with every thrust. Left hip, and Thomas held him prone. His buttocks, always the worst. Thomas enjoyed those evenings, liked to drape John across his lap and spank him like a naughty schoolboy, the pain so deep John sometimes passed out._ _

__Once John tried to fight back. He was so weak, not having had a proper meal in decades. He boxed himself in the corner, held a candlestick like a club. Thomas just laughed at his feeble attempt at defense, prised the makeshift weapon from his hands. That night, Thomas chose the place right under his navel, made sure his knuckles grazed the burn with each pump he gave to John’s prick. John hated himself as his orgasm raced through him. There was no use in asking Thomas to stop, it just made things worse._ _

__***_ _

__There was the time Thomas brought a beautiful human home, a youth, nineteen. Olive skin, sun kissed hair. He smelled like outside, he smelled so sweet, John ached to touch him, to feel the sunshine through his skin, to taste, to bite._ _

__Thomas led their guest to John’s bed, undressed him. The boy was drugged. Lucid, loose, uncaring. He giggled as Thomas ravished him. Thomas made John sit on the chair, watch the proceedings._ _

__“Isn’t he gorgeous?” Thomas mused, watching John’s reaction. He gripped the boy’s buttocks, hoisted him into his lap. “Such a sweet thing. Too bad I only have room here for one toy.” He threw a scathing look at John. “Then again, you’ve been such a nuisance, perhaps I should consider replacing you.” He laughed at his own idea, at John tensing in his chair. “Whatever would you do then, John? Penniless, not a stitch of real clothing, Chicago teaming with vampire hunters. I daresay a little kitten like you would last a week, perhaps two?”_ _

__“Papa,” John said. Could feel the tears on his cheeks. “Don’t make me go, please. I’ll be good, I’m sorry…”_ _

__“Shut up,” Thomas said casually, yawning. Smiled fondly at the boy as he worked him open with one hand. “Come here and show me you’re useful.”_ _

__John padded over the bed, eyes down, kneeled at the foot. Waited for his next order. Thomas sat the boy right on his cock. “I am craving that...that flavor. Perhaps you remember? That delicious taste of hormones in the blood, only possible right after release? I am tired. Pleasure the lad for me. Not your hand you brainless slut, your mouth. There’s a good boy.”_ _

__Human flesh in his mouth, blood beating right below the surface. John was dizzy with the taste, yearned to sink his teeth in, to dig his fangs, feel the skin break, to gorge himself, drink his fill until he was drunk._ _

__“I can see your worthless little mind whirring,” Thomas taunted. “Bite him, and you’ll be on the streets so fast your empty head will spin.”_ _

__John sucked, the taste the human’s spend almost too much to handle. He trembled with hunger. Watched in lust as Thomas sunk his fangs into the boy’s neck, latched on like an infant to the breast. He shivered, felt himself slipping. “Papa,” he whimpered. “Papa, please let me have a sip.” A single tear rolled down his cheek. How had it come to this? A lonely apartment, a cruel master, touches only in selfishness and anger, and now begging for a drink, one he hadn’t had in years._ _

__When he let Lafayette turn him, it was so they could be together. Forever. They were supposed to see the world, watch the tides change, America’s birth and rise. The tears flowed freely, bitter tears of regret, of longing. Thomas feasted and watched him cry._ _

__Thomas lifted his face. The boy had grown pale, not much time left. “Shhh,” Thomas shushed him. “It’s alright John. Here, you’ve been so good, Papa’s good boy, you’ve earned this.” He smiled and like a king bestowing a pardon, motioned for John to join him. Gratefully, John climbed into his lap. “Go ahead, my darling,” Thomas urged. “Take a bite.”_ _

__Gratitude flooded John, and for a moment, he didn’t just appreciate Thomas, he loved him for this gift, he adored him. Flesh yielding for his fangs, the first drink like sweet spring water on a hot summer day, bright and bursting on his tongue. He wept with relief, and that night, what Thomas usually took he gave willingly._ _

__***  
1921_ _

__There was only two ways to kill a vampire, far as Alexander knew. Stake to the heart. Beheading. Starvation would not lead to the sweet release of death, just an eternity of agony, of wasting away. This room had been their prison for twenty-eight long years._ _

__Alex hardly had the strength to even keep his tally. Surely, they would outlast the brick. The room had to decay eventually. He feared Lafayette had gone mad, he was silent most days. He stopped blocking out John’s cries, lay there and let the sound wash over him. He deserved this punishment._ _

__December 5th, 1921. Alexander would never forget the day. It happened so quickly. So out of the blue. A sound like a cannon, and a crack in the brick. Light._ _

__Had John found them? Had help arrived?_ _

__Their liberator was a confused laborer, a handy man. His face puzzled as he pulled away the crumbling brick. Not their usual prey, but after starving, he smelled like heaven. Tasted better than heaven, too. Lafayette sprung when the moment was right, they fell upon him like rabid beasts._ _

__Later, they lay there sated, Alex’s head spinning. He could feel his strength returning. He looked next him. Lafayette hadn’t returned completely to his most beautiful, but he was no longer a walking corpse. They both laughed, delirious from the their feeding._ _

__They fed once more, on the handyman’s partner. The sparkled returned to Lafayette’s eyes. Alexander was overcome with emotion, had to take his lover into his arms. “It’s over,” he babbled. Energy flowing through him like a river._ _

__“It is time to end this,” Lafayette said simply._ _

__***_ _

__Knock on his office door. Thomas looked up from his books. Worker in hand, pudgy pale thing, an idiot._ _

__“Pipe burst...busted into the brick...something back there...Animal or something, attacked Louis and Rodney...mutilated them…”_ _

__Thomas stood, grabbed his coat. Practically ran down the street._ _

__***_ _

__Thomas said they had to go. Had to get out of the city. John dressed in trousers, a shirt, suspenders. Outside clothing. First time in almost thirty years. Wool coat. A hat. Everything was too big, Thomas’s size. He looked longingly at the rose colored negligee he had been wearing. Don’t worry baby doll, you’ll be back in your pretty stuff as soon as we get where we’re going._ _

__Thomas had a car waiting for them, a slick metal beast in sage green that went so fast John thought he might be sick. They drove to the countryside. Thomas thought he could outrun them. Being hunted by some of the greatest trackers._ _

__***_ _

__Farmhouse. Big and comfortable, not luxurious. A warm bedroom. John wanted to squirrel away. Shed his clothes almost immediately, pulled on a gauzy slip, translucent black chiffon. He wondered when Thomas would come upstairs. He had noticed he left the brand back at the hotel, and he oscillated between relief from the break and worry that Thomas might cook up a different torture._ _

__The candle guttered. John read by its flame. He knew better than to retire before Thomas joined him in bed, but it was past midnight and he was alone. When he thought he might sneak downstairs and find him, a loud burst. Storm blowing the door open._ _

__Thomas’s voice, loud and haughty. Two other voices. John rushed to the stairs. No, they couldn’t take Papa away, he was all he had._ _

__At the foot of the stairs. Confusion. Thomas standing. Two men flanking him. Where is he, where did you put him? I know he’s here, you keep him close by you sick fuck. Familiar voice. Voice he hadn’t heard in years. Voice from his dreams._ _

__“Alexander?” John peered over Thomas’s shoulder. Alexander, a piece of wood in hand, and Lafayette next to him. Shadows in the kitchen. “You came back.” John was frightened now, would Papa be angry if he went to them? Alex took a step towards them, and Thomas blocked John with his broad body._ _

__“Do you think,” he said cooly. “That you can spend years away after abandoning him, and just waltz back in here? We’re lovers now, he’s with _me_ and I find it rich that--”_ _

__“Liar!” Alex roared. Wanted to launch himself at Thomas. “Tell John the truth! Tell him where we were all this time!”_ _

__England. The tropics. Bombay. Moscow. Gone like wisps of smoke._ _

__“Papa said you took a train up north,” John said softly. “Where did you go?”_ _

__“John, listen to me. We never would have willingly left you, we love you, we spent thirty goddamn years, torture--” Alex paused, choked on the rage and the pain._ _

__“He’s lying to you,” Thomas hissed. “They are greedy, they want to run away but now they miss you, miss your tight little body, nothing else, but they can’t have you. They have everything else. Greedy. You’re mine.”_ _

__Lafayette had been silent through the exchange so far, his eyes like a tiger’s. Watching._ _

__“John, he had us walled into a tiny room in the basement of his hotel...we could...we could…” Alexander refused to cry, let his rage fuel him. Steady. “We could hear everything. Every time that monster--” He pointed the wooden stake at Jefferson. “Made you cry.”_ _

__Head spinning. It made no sense. The hotel? Their home? Alex recited thirty years worth of history, every sound he heard, every conversation. John’s blood was ice. They heard it all._ _

__Shame burned his cheeks. Thomas opened his arms, tired to get him to go to him, and John screamed. He screamed so loud, his throat tore, his curls shook._ _

__No, not his-- Not this. Not his Alexander, his Lafayette, locked away for years and years while he was Thomas’s pet._ _

___And they heard everything._ _ _

__Strength John hadn’t known in years. He pushed Thomas from him, scrambled to get to them. Alexander’s arms, Lafayette’s hand on his shoulder. He was shaking as he cried, the years of bitterness and loss falling away. Peeled loose._ _

__And underneath that, anger. Fear. Guilt._ _

__Thomas still cooed at him, another lie falling from his lips._ _

__“I grow tired of this game,” Lafayette said, voice icy. “I do hate destroying one of my own creations.”_ _

__“Come to kill me?” Thomas jeered. “Why? Because I had a few goes at your cheap little tart? Little brat practically begged for it every night, I must admit you trained him well. Be reasonable, boys, is he worth all this ruckus?”_ _

__Two strides, three, and Lafayette was upon him. He wrestled him onto the table, held him down by his throat. “Alexander,” he said simply. Thomas was talking but they ignored him. John clung to Alex, tears dripping off his chin._ _

__Alex brandished the wooden stake. Looked at Thomas. His jailer. He, who let him waste for years. Who banished Laf to the same fate. Who broke John’s body, tramped down his spirit, dissected his heart._ _

__He turned to John._ _

__“My love,” he said. Placed the wooden stake in his hand. John looked confused. “You do the honors.”_ _

__From the table, Thomas laughed. “He won’t do it! Weak thing, and loyal. John, sweet boy, you love Papa too much to do such a thing.”_ _

__John glared at him. Found his eyes. Went to him, to the table. Lifted the stake. Stared at Thomas. “Why bother?” Thomas whispered. Fear there. Slight, but there. “You think they will want you back? They heard it all. Dirty thing. They know where you’ve been.”_ _

__The crunch of the stake as it bore through bone. John’s shout of fury. Thomas convulsed. Laf held him down as he died, the stake pinning him in place. They watched the light fade._ _

__***_ _

__They stayed in the farmhouse that night. Lafayette buried Thomas in the woods behind the house. He refused to let the other two help him._ _

__John felt caught. Ached to be with his sire, his lovers. Between them. But the words. Echoing. They knew it all, they witnessed every moment of weakness, every time he begged, he gave in, he allowed it, he welcomed it._ _

__What would happen when the shock wore off, when the sun came up, when the truth set in. Thirty years of Thomas’s hands on his body, of his words in his ears. While the two he loved most in the world in constant torment, he lived in luxury. He was a dirty thing. They knew exactly where he had been._ _

__Lafayette smelled like earth and rain. He went to scoop John up, but he backed away. Don’t touch me, don’t look at me. Leave me, you should have left._ _

__John wanted to sleep alone that night. Alex and Laf hovered outside his door._ _

__***_ _

__Morning. They were still there. The sunrise puzzled John, he hadn’t seen something so bright in years. Alexander had a newspaper, Lafayette a map. Both of them had a plan._ _

__“Come sit with us, little one,” Lafayette coaxed. Thirty years was a lifetime. Thirty years was a blink of an eye. Everything had happened. Nothing had changed._ _

__John was painfully aware he was still in his nightie, but he sat on Lafayette’s lap just the same, tensing then relaxing while he wrapped his arms around him. Nudged his neck with his nose, inhaled. “May I kiss you?” he asked, and for the first time in the decades John had known him, that smooth exterior cracked, he sounded vulnerable. John nodded, let Lafayette claim his lips and the years fell away. Alex right there too, waiting his turn, kissing John delicately, then properly._ _

__“I hate Chicago now,” Alex said carefully, leaned over Lafayette’s shoulder to look at the map. It was 1921 and the world spread out before them like a meal to savor. Lafayette tutted, hugged John around the waist._ _

__“Little one.” He put his finger to the map, kissed John on the neck. “Tell us where you want to go.”_ _

__The map, with its endless lines, its rivers and boundaries. Possibilities. “Somewhere sunny,” he whispered._ _

**Author's Note:**

> Still with me?
> 
> Need to yell at me?
> 
> Tumblr: @likearootlesstree


End file.
